Ah Shame my old friend. Concubine of the pitiful, voice of the parched throat, the delectable souffle at a pervert’s table. Sit down and break bread, rot the thing as is your way. These many little visits become commonplace, tedious in their vulgarity and coarseness. You are not one for subtlety. As I lay, as I breathe, the spiral thoughts and past come upon me as dogs to the bone, pigs to the Hannibal trough. You coquettish court me like jasmine lace enticing arousal; I give in to the leer, go away to some bad place only we know. A touch at first, then showers pour down my spider spout and wash away confidence, layers of hatred coarsing through the veins, pinball banging round chakras for triple points. You have your fun. You enjoy seeing me redfaced and teardrop squinty. I must be the masochist in our little tryst we’ve built for so many many years. I say I’ll leave then I hear your flutter and trounce back in for the abuse.
Do I deserve it? What a question. You know as well as I that my tormented psyche is my calling card and I truly feel the need to embrace you in cringing fashion. You are the blanket that never leaves, never wavers, always dependable in your horrid way. I beckon you for the drama, calling for the comfort of misery, the grey feeling that makes excuses for procrastination and lost potential. With a sweep of the hand you dull my senses and cast me into folly volleys against myself. Forgetting good traits to dwell on the muck beneath my feet. But you’re there, you encompass the whole mini world I’m in and are the alpha and omega, the fraternity I pledged so many years ago. Remember? Sitting in the cold snow wishing death at the tenderest of ages, depression hit us so mightily and left its mark, the human stain. Poor boy hurt by the cruel as children. Tired of fighting endlessly, tired of defending my walls like some clan game. Still tired. But can’t break the habit; a nun to the god of self-abuse. So it goes, I have accepted you. I even write from your influence, a muse of ill sorts, hideously divine. So be with me if you must, I welcome a shoulder on the long road out of hell. May be you are the balancing force in my yin yang cosmos. Give us a kiss.